


Secretly Falling Apart

by rippedoutgrace



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippedoutgrace/pseuds/rippedoutgrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn is self-destructive, and Liam tries to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secretly Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that this could be triggering, so proceed with caution.

He hears them when they think he isn’t listening. Too thin. Self-destructive. Dangerous. Unhealthy. The words don’t mean much to him. Just words. Little things that have no meaning, no power. Until you want them to.

It didn’t start as a cry for attention, but he knows that’s what Louis thinks. Harry just blinks slowly at him and asks if he wants to come up his and Lou’s flat. He’ll cook, he promises, something delicious and maybe spicy, even though Lou hates that. Zayn just quirks up the corner of his mouth and says, “Another time, yeah?”

Niall just shrugs and offers him his bag of crisps, smiling sweetly with flushed cheeks in that way that only Niall can. He doesn’t look too fussed either when Zayn inevitably turns him down, for which he’s grateful.

Liam though. Zayn isn’t sure what reaction he wants from Liam but it’s never the right one. When Liam took him to Tesco’s for groceries, Zayn was annoyed, sulking five steps behind the cart and ignoring Liam’s cheerful lectures on the benefits of eating right. But when that didn’t work and Liam started ignoring it, Zayn was desperate to have the nosy, meddlesome Liam back.

He lays in his flat, feeling the jut of his hipbones, the outline of his collarbones with light fingers. He circles his hands around his thigh, stretching his leg out on the couch. He can feel his fingertips on each side and he wiggles them together, reveling in the sensation. He likes it maybe a little too much.

Zayn’s really not sure when it started or even why. First he blamed it on the stress of the tour, traveling and never feeling really all that comfortable in hotels. The beds were never right to sleep in, the pillows always either too firm or too soft. The food certainly wasn’t as good as back home. But then they came home and the weight just didn’t find its way back onto his body. Knees got knobbier, elbows got sharper, ribs began to show. He counts them down his side. _One, two, three, four…_

He likes standing in the shower the best, the steam wrapping around him until he can’t breathe for the thickness of the air. It’s better when he closes his eyes and feels his way with soapy hands. He starts at his neck and works downward, stopping to bump, bump, bump down his ribs with crossed arms and over the crevices his hipbones make. He doesn’t touch his cock, but keeps going, down his thighs, touching between where they no longer meet, and over his knees. His calves he does one at a time, feeling how small they are, then his feet. He wonders if they won’t hold him up one day. He’ll just collapse like a house of poorly built cards, bones falling on bones until he’s nothing but a pile of them. He wonders if Liam would be shocked.

Getting out of the shower is the worst though. He shivers and shakes and chatters his teeth like he lives in the Arctic, trying to bundle himself up in sweats and beanies and those really thick socks his mother bought him that one winter. He’ll make tea and try to sip it scalding hot, but usually leaves it to cool and forgets. He opens his cupboards and squints at the lack of food present. A list will be made and forgotten. But he never forgets to buy his cigarettes.

The boys tolerate his habit but with scrunched up noses and little coughs. He can’t stop though. It’s comforting and he likes the heat of the flame from the lighter. And he absolutely doesn’t touch it, no matter how pretty it dances and flickers. He has the proof of its bite on his right forefinger.

He likes going to the clubs. No one cares that he’s too thin. No one cares that he smokes or that he ignores the four text messages from Liam. _Come over to my flat. I made dinner. Where are you? I’m worried._ Someone slips the pill into his hand and he loses them in the pulsing crowd before he can ask. Placing it on his tongue, he feels the slide of it, the lump in his throat from dry swallowing. The music gets louder, the lights are brighter, his skin tingles. He dances like his pretty little flame hidden in the lighter. And maybe he bites like it too when someone gets too close, presses fingers into his waist, grinds against him too solid and large. He doesn’t belong to them.

The new tattoo leaves a phantom sting in his skin. He likes the pain and he especially likes drawing attention to the protruding bones. He likes it so much he got another one on his collarbone to match the other side. Harry came with him once and they got an ‘x’ inked on their ankles. Until then, he never thought about his anklebones, and now he likes them, too.

Liam’s waiting for him at his flat, sitting quietly on the couch. “We need to talk,” he says. Zayn waves for him to continue, wondering if the way he’s leaning against the chair shows him off, if his tattoos highlight his skin just so. He wants Liam to notice him. _See me, see me. Look how beautiful I am for you._

Liam doesn’t see him though. Not the way he wants. He sees the bones and shakes his head sadly. Zayn doesn’t understand, he knows how beautiful he is. He’s lovely and thin and it’s all for Liam. It’s always been for him.

Management controls the story when it gets out. He’s going for a rest because he’s suffering from exhaustion and it’s supposed to be the best facility in the country. Zayn doesn’t understand. Why can’t they just see? He’s perfect. He’s not sick, he’s not in trouble. He grasps Liam like a lifeline, _save me, I love you._ Liam kisses his forehead with a long press of lips, _this is me saving you_. An even longer press to his dry, cracked lips, _I love you more than you know_.


End file.
